


Severely

by asdreamsaremade



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 01:12:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3590766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asdreamsaremade/pseuds/asdreamsaremade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phantom modern AU; a three-part mini-fic about Erik and Christine, with appearances in the second and third parts by other select characters. Loosely based on the song Severely by FT Island.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_“I’m a fool that can’t live without you – what do you want me to do?” – Severely, FT Island_

            When a seed is planted, the soil around it absorbs light, moisture, and nutrients to help the plant grow. Some seeds bloom into beautiful flowers, healthy trees, or any number of other magnificent things. They sprout from the ground gaily, and all who pass marvel at their splendor. There are other plants, however, that grow from these seeds. Ugly plants, dirty and lumpy and ugly-colored, which stay below the ground, ashamed to stand next to deep purple irises or bright yellow sunflowers. People may enjoy carrots and potatoes, at least in a stew, but no one ever stopped by a potato to marvel at its beauty. So the potato, like so many of its kind, remains hidden until it is useful, and is always envious of the things of beauty that far outshine it.

            He liked to think of himself as a potato. After all, it was a far funnier way of describing his tragic state. It lightened things up, if only slightly. Sometimes he thought it would be better to be a potato than the monster he was; at least then _some_ people would like him. But life had dealt him this hand of cards, and as much as he hated it, he was stuck with it.

            At least he could surround himself with beautiful things: beautiful candles whose flames flickered like dancers, beautiful music whose sound echoed in his mind, beautiful porcelain masks that concealed the truth. But never anything too beautiful, no, he could not do that. No colorful flowers, no sweet perfumes, nothing of that sort. Nothing to make him too envious, for once he became envious of all that he was not, he felt as ashamed and as useless as a stupid potato.

            She was the only exception to this rule. The only beautiful thing free from his envy, for he, too, was in awe of her. And he, only he, had seen the beauty in her before it was there.

            “Hello?” her voice echoed from the other side of the mirror. There she was, as beautiful as ever, blonde curls pulled up into a ponytail, ballet bag slung across her shoulder. She rested one beautiful hand on the wooden barre, bright blue eyes flitting about the room, searching. “Are you there?”

            He smiled to himself, yet his heart was heavy in his chest, because he did not deserve her beauty or light. But, nevertheless, she searched for him, and it was his duty to answer. “I’m here,” he spoke into the tiny portable mouthpiece, his voice clicking through the static speakers in the practice room.

            A wide, toothy grin spread across her face. “I thought for sure you’d left already!”

            “If you had been only a moment later, I would have been gone.” That was a lie, but she did not need to know that.

            She frowned, plump pink lips pouting perfectly. “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

            That made him laugh. He laughed softly, with his head turned away from the mouthpiece, because it would be unpleasant if she heard. “Perhaps you could consider a real mode of transportation such as, oh, a bike or something! Why do you insist on walking five miles every day?”

            Her head shot up. “It’s a good warmup! Besides, I like walking.” She crossed her arms and stared, unblinking, at one of the speakers.

            These were the most painful moments he spent with her, when he could see her from his side of the mirror, yet all she saw were the speakers. He did not want her to look at him, really, but he wished, for just a moment, that she could see him. That her eyes would meet his, and she would know him. And her gaze would be meant for him and only him. If only…

            There were more important things to do than worry about his loneliness. “Very well,” he sighed, forfeiting the argument. “Let’s start with stretches.” It was better to be productive during their sessions, to get things done instead of fighting an unwinnable battle. Christine gave a curt nod, set down her ballet bag, and began her usual head-to-toe stretch routine.

            While she was stretching, he lifted the mask from his face. It was foreign, the feeling of air on his bare skin. Even in his loneliest moments, he wore this mask. Hid the truth from himself. He spent his life behind this fragile, white thing. It was smooth to the touch, cold, and so equal parts beautiful and loathsome that he wanted to smash it against the wall right then and there, all the while knowing he would never do so. He could never part with it, just as he could never part with her. He placed the mask back on his face and looked up.

            “Your pirouette in the _Enchantment_ piece needs improvement,” he said, the mouthpiece picking up his voice.

            Christine stopped her stretching and locked her gaze on the speaker in the left corner of the room. Her usually plump lips were set in a thin, straight line as she asked, “How should I improve it?”

            “I know Giry taught you the proper way to hold your frame, so you have no excuse for the laziness you have displayed lately.” He hated reprimanding her, but he strove for perfection. He would not give her special treatment just because he was in love with her. “Lift your head and chest during the spin. Posture is everything. Go ahead and try.”

            Christine stood slowly, filling the drawn-out time with a burning glare to each individual speaker. Her first spin was even lazier than it had been before, and for a moment, all he wanted to do was smash his fist against the mirror, break through into the practice room, and wrap one gloved hand tightly around her neck. Instead, he repeated his instructions. It was his patience versus her pride, which was quite a difficult battle. He continued coaxing her, instructing her, taking deep breaths to cool the rage swelling within him. Eventually she relinquished her pride and the rehearsal moved on in earnest.

            Practice was over far too quickly for his liking. They had been quite productive, perfecting a large section of her dance and learning a whole new song, but the time passed in the blink of an eye. “You did well today,” he said as she began packing her things.

            She smiled up at one of the speakers. “Only because you’re an amazing teacher.”

            As she turned back to her bag, so close to leaving, something swelled within him, something that made him speak into the mouthpiece, “Christine.” She froze, zipper pulled up halfway. It was, perhaps, the first time he had spoken her name aloud, and the something that had compelled him to call out to her vanished, leaving him speechless. He knew, in that moment, that he had to find something to say, and from the way things were going, that something could only be one thing. “You’ve never seen me,” he said softly. “In all these years, you have not laid eyes on me even once.”

            This seemed to shake her from her stupor. “I’m used to it,” she shrugged.

            “Oh,” he said.

            The room filled with a thick silence until, finally, she asked, “am I allowed to see you?

            ‘Would you like to?” His voice was painfully timid.

            Christine laughed her beautiful, crystalline laugh, head falling back and mouth stretching open. He felt betrayed by her laughter, as if him opening up and offering such a delicate thing was merely amusement to her. He turned, fully prepared to storm off and leave her alone, when she said “When? Now? Or… what?”

            With a slow, shallow breath, he returned to the mouthpiece. “Why not now? I am right here.” What was he saying? He was just winging everything, throwing his years of careful planning, of hiding, out the window in a single conversation! But the words had been said, and there was no turning back.

            “H-here?” Christine’s mouth fell open and her eyes, so clear and blue and beautiful, began darting about the room. “Where?”

            The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly at her surprise. “In the mirror, of course.”

            Mouth still agape, Christine approached the mirror. She pressed one delicate hand up against the glass, shut her mouth, and squinted her eyes, searching. “I can’t see anything though.”

            “That is the point. Allow me.” He moved away from the mouthpiece and up to the glass. For a single moment, he allowed himself to press his gloved hand opposite hers, to relish in the idea of finally entwining her delicate fingers with this, before he slowly slid the glass panel aside.

            She did not gasp, nor did she stumble back at the sight of him. She simply stood there, staring, taking in every inch of his appearance. All at once, he became conscious of everything that was wrong with him, everything he hated about himself. He hated the wig he had to wear to cover up the deformation on his skull. He hated the mask he wore to hid his hideous face. He hated the thick leather gloves he wore to hide his numerous burns. He hated the long sleeves he wore to hide his shameful scars. He hated how frightening he looked, and he hated how he did not have any choice but to look that way.

            When she opened her mouth to speak, he expected shock disgust, anger, any number of things except for “So do you live back there or something?” It took a moment for her words to register in his mind, and when they did, all he could do was nod. “Cool. Can I see? Or is that, like, rude of me to ask?” Her voice was softer than normal, slower, yet it lacked none of its usual vigor.

            “O-of course.” With a deep breath, he regained his composure and motioned for her to follow him.

            “Did you build this?” Christine asked, looking around at the dark brick walls of the winding tunnel.

            “Years ago, the art center chose me as the architect, since I was the only one truly willing to go by their demands. We signed the contract and, in secret, I took time to create this space, since I needed a new home.” He did not tell her about his friend Nadir, or about her adoptive mother Marie Giry’s involvement.

            They exited the long hallway, coming out into a wide open area, well-lit, with a series of sectioned-off stone-grey rooms. “This space is mostly underground. I live here now, and only leave when I need to purchase necessities or when we have lessons.”

            Christine took a few tentative steps forward, looking around. There was not much to see in that outer space, just some walls and a few lights, but still she behaved as though she was seeing a mermaid or some other fantastical creature. “What’s in the rooms?”

            He walked up beside her, keeping enough distance to where he would not be tempted to wrap her in his arms. “A kitchen, a bathroom, and office, a bedroom. The usual.”

            “So… what do you do all the time?” Her eyes were on him now. She was seeing him, and he was equal parts thrilled and uncomfortable.

            “Compose,” he replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

            The light in her eyes grew brighter. “Compose! Like what?”

            “Nothing much, just some minor stuff. _Enchantment_ , for example.” He did not really intend on impressing her, but it was still nice to see her excitement. She jumped up and down a little and squealed.

            “I love that song! I listen to it all the time! I can’t believe that was you!” She paused, ceased her jumping and looked at him. “Can I ask a question?”

            “That was a question, but yes, you may ask another.”

            She rolled her eyes at his remark before her features fell back into a serious expression – brows furrowed, mouth in a straight line, eyes burning into his own. “Why are you wearing that mask?”

            His whole body tensed, muscles in his stomach contracting, heart pounding against his chest. He felt the heat rise in his cheeks. Instinctively, his hand moved up to touch the right side of his face, covering the mask and the monster beneath. “I… you should be getting home. Come, I will return you to the practice room.” He whirled around, making a beeline for the hallway. Christine gave a soft huff and followed him, the disappointment radiating off her in waves.

            When they reached the practice room, she exited through the mirror, grabbed her bag, and marched out the door without a word.

            He stepped from his safe haven into the room, took two strides toward the door, wanting with every fiber of his being to follow her, to apologize, to show her why he was so afraid. The problem was, he was too afraid of doing even that. Instead, he walked back to the mirror, slumped against the barre, and pressed the bare half of his forehead to the cold glass. His mask gleamed bright white beneath the fluorescent lights, taunting him. _You are worth nothing,_ it said, _absolutely nothing to her. She will never love you. Someone that beautiful can never love you.  Go back to the darkness where you belong, you hideous monster._

“Monster,” he whispered to his reflection. It was true. He was nothing but a monster. He would never be anything but a monster.

            Just as he moved away from the mirror, trudged back toward his dark, lonely hideaway, sirens sounded outside the building.


	2. Chapter 2

_“Severely, I guess I loved you too severely. I don’t even breathe as I look around for you…”  – Severely by F.T. Island_

            He remembered the first time he ever met Marie Giry. He was working on a project with Nadir, his most loyal friend, when she swept into the room, all dressed up and made up. Clinging to her skirts was a little blonde girl, probably five years in age. In her right arm, Giry cradled a smaller child, no more than a year old, and in her left hand was her signature dark wooden cane. Nadir knew the woman, somehow, so when she entered, he greeted her with a smile.

            Erik, on the other hand, greeted her with a scowl, and that was the beginning of their tense relationship.

            “I know someone who is looking for an architect and designer,” she said. Her voice echoed through the room. He would never forget the strange feeling that clawed its way up his spine the first time he heard her voice. She commanded the whole room, this tiny, willowy woman.

            Erik was young, then, but still old enough to know opportunity when he saw it. While Nadir remained silent, still considering Giry’s statement, Erik stepped forward. “If they will trust me entirely, I will take the job.”

            The toddler waddled forward, just slightly, fists still wound in Giry’s skirt. She squinted up at him with bright blue eyes, a pout on her petite pink lips. He took a step back, thrown off by the gaze of such a little girl.

            “Come, follow me and we will sign the contract.” He could hear a slight French accent in Giry’s voice, and somehow it made her even more frightening.

 

            Thirteen years had passed since then, and it seemed not much had changed. Giry still commanded a room, even as age began to wrinkle her face and curve her posture. Nadir, his old friend, never spoke to him anymore, but relayed messages to him through Giry, who now worked as a teacher, just like Erik. Little notes were left in front of the mirror early each morning, with short, impersonal sentences in the Persian man’s slanted handwriting. “Signed for redesign of Gunter building. “New arts hall commission.” Never anything about him, never any greeting, just business updates. Erik crumpled them up and threw them away now, always without reading them.

            And the little girl, whose gaze had taken him aback so many years ago, continued to surprise him. Little Christine, ever the curious child, so sweet and innocent despite all she had seen: her mother’s accident, her father’s illness and subsequent death, and even Erik himself. He had fallen for her immediately, first as a protector, and now… well, now he did not really know.

            When the sirens sounded, his heart stopped. His fingers and toes became numb, his throat clogged, his ears filled with a deafening silence. _Christine!_

In three strides, he was across the room, stepping through the doorway into the hall. His heart was beating again, racing, fighting against the confines of his chest. His breath was shallow, desperate, keeping him alive long enough to see if she was okay, if she was hurt, if she was –

            When he stepped over the threshold, his feet stopped moving. They refused to budge, refused to allow him to go outside, to show himself to the world. Oh, how stupid he was! She was out there, had been out there, and if those sirens were meant for her… if those sirens were because of her, there was no guarantee he would get to see her again.

            He realized, then, that she had become his world. When he composed, he thought of her beautiful voice. When he laid there in his dark room at night, he thought of her bright eyes. She was woven into his every thought, every heartbeat, every breath, and he would not see her again.

            He needed to see her again.

            He forced himself to breathe, one deep inhale through the nose, one long exhale through the mouth. Another, slower, pushing air into his lungs, forcing tension out. One more, and his feet were back under his command. He dashed down the hallway and came to a halt at the glass doors in the front of the building.

            It was her. He could see clearly from here, her small figure sprawled on the ground, her blonde hair matted with blood. Right in front of a large black SUV.

            He could not move, could not think. All he could see was blood, blonde hair and blood, and bile rose in his throat. The EMTs rushed in with a stretcher, lifted her on and buckled her up. One strapped a mask to her face while two others lifted the stretcher into the ambulance. Another stood by with gauze to cover her wound, but it looked terrible. The ambulance pulled away just as the police drove up, and Erik pressed his gloved hand up against the glass, wishing he were in there with her – no, wishing he were there instead of her.

            When he regained a few shreds of his composure, he turned around. The receptionist at the front desk was on lunch break, so the seat behind the desk was empty. He strode quickly around the desk and picked up the phone, dialing Giry’s number. It rang twice before she answered, French lilt and all, with “Marie Giry.”

            “Christine is… she… there was an accident,” he finally managed to get the words out. “She was leaving and a car came up and I suppose neither of them were paying attention. The ambulance just left with her.”

            There was a long silence on the other end of the line, and when Giry spoke again, her voice was missing its usual power. “Do you know what hospital they took her to?”

            “I do not.”

            “Okay, I’m hanging up now.” There was a click, and the call ended.

            He placed the phone back on the receiver and pressed his hands to the flat surface of the desk, leaning his whole weight on them. The blood, all the blood on her beautiful blonde hair, her unconscious form, all those images kept flashing before his eyes.

            Nadir. He needed to talk to Nadir.

            Before he really knew what he was doing, he was dialing Nadir’s old phone number, the one the man had switched to almost ten years ago. Even as it rang, Erik was sure the man would not answer, so when the scratchy “Hello?” came from the other side of the phone, he could not help his surprise.

            “I need your help.”

            “Erik, it’s been so long! I—”

            “This is no time for conversation.”

            “Erik!” The shock in his voice stung.

            “Christine… A car hit her. I need to see her. Will you help me or should I just hang up right now?”

            “Alright, alright, I’ll help you. Does Marie know?” His voice was exasperated, but Erik did not care. Only Christine mattered.

            “I called her already.”

            Nadir sighed. “Okay. Let me talk to her and I’ll call you back. Everything will be okay.” There was a click and the line died as the man hung up.

            Erik set the phone down, sliding into the office chair. He probably looked ridiculous, a figure in all black with a mask sitting in the receptionist’s seat. But all he could think about was getting to her, seeing her, before it was too late.

            Every second that ticked away seemed to fill the space of a lifetime, until finally the phone rang once more. Erik picked it up before the first ring even finished. “Well?” He did not mean to sound angry, but he was angry! Angry that Christine was hurt, angry that he had not apologized before she left, angry that he had to rely on Nadir just to see her.

            “I’m on my way.” With that simple sentence, Nadir hung up. Erik resisted the urge to throw the phone against the wall. He slumped down into the desk chair, suddenly so tired. No, tired was not right. He was distraught, emotional, and that emotional exhaustion made his legs go weak. He could feel a scream, could feel tears, building up in his throat, but when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a pathetic squeak. He leaned forward, head in his hands, willing everything to go away. As he sat there, his mind wandered to the unbearable, impossible ideas of what Christine could be going through. He entertained thoughts of difficult surgeries, comas, and complications until Nadir drove up in front of the studio.

            Without a word, Erik stood, strode out the door, and climbed into Nadir’s passenger seat. “Hurry.” He knew his tone was terse and cold, but he did not care. He was not there to mend whatever relationship he and Nadir had.

            “Nice to see you, too.” The Persian man’s voice was hard.

            The drive to the hospital was completely silent, which did not help Erik’s nerves. Noise, noise, he needed noise and distraction, music, something, something to keep him from thinking of her and her blood and her bright blue eyes! When they were parked, Nadir held out a plastic grocery bag to Erik. “Change into these. She’s in room 285.” Erik snatched the bag and made his way inside.

            After finding the bathroom and being noticed a minimal number of times, he investigated the bag’s contents. In it was a set of medical green surgery scrubs, complete with a hat and mask that concealed all but his eyes. It was such an easy solution, but it had taken Nadir to think of it. Where had his mind gone?

            The answer was simple: the Christine.

            He slipped into the scrubs, stuffed his regular clothes into the bag, and walked out of the bathroom with as much doctor-like confidence as he could muster. As he passed the desk, while a nurse had her back turned, he snatched a clipboard with a list of patients on it. Every time someone looked at him, he pretended to be busy studying the list. It was quite effective at keeping people away.

            Erik made his way to the emergency wing of the hospital, doing his utmost to keep from running down the halls. He did not need the attention, but every cell in his body was screaming for Christine, yearning to see her and hold her just once more. Finally, he reached the emergency wing, and there she was, a bandage on her head and several doctors and nurses looking over her. Her shallow breath fogged the oxygen mask over her face and the beeps of the machine that measured her heartbeat were too slow.

            The doctors and nurses did not appear concerned. Or, at least, they appeared to have given up. One doctor stood over her with his arms crossed and a frown furrowing his brow. Beside him, a nurse, holding a phone in her hand, did her best to keep from crying. The two other doctors were squinting at a clipboard while a second nurse spoke to them in low tones.

            “The guardian called. She said we could…” Her voice faded into the background, Erik’s mind and gaze frozen on Christine’s unconscious form. A hollowness filled his stomach and his legs began to shake.

            Erik took a deep breath to steady himself. He had come to a halt when he saw her and ended up blocking the doorway. He took a step to the side to let others pass, and then allowed his gaze to rest on her once more.

            Giry was not there. This fact registered somewhere in the back of his mind for a few seconds, until he looked back at Christine and saw the first doctor reach over and turn off all the machines Christine was attached to. The nurse lifted the mask off Christine’s pale face and pulled the sheet up over her head.

            All the blood rushed out of him. His eyesight blurred, his mind grew dizzy, and he propped himself against the doorframe until he regained some shred of his composure. They began wheeling the bed away, with her in it, and he wanted to follow after, to demand that they turn those machines back on and keep her heart beating long enough for him to tell her –

            But that was silly, because he was so numb that violence would be impossible. So instead he let them go, turning away from the whole scene and trudging toward the elevator. It was as though every thought in the world was rushing through his mind, yet none of them stuck, leaving him with an empty heaviness that pressed down on him with an unbearable weight. He could take her, he could kill them, he could hunt down the car driver, he could, he could, he could.

            He would not. Instead, he stepped into the elevator, pressed ‘1,’ and let his eyes snap shut. He wished the world did not exist. He wished he had been able to save her. He wished he had not fought with her, had chased after her, had done something, anything, to keep this all from happening.

            The elevator dinged and came to a stop on the second floor. Erik opened his eyes and straightened his posture. No one was going to see him in such a state!

            Or, that was what he thought, until the doors slid open and Christine stepped in.


	3. Chapter 3

_“I guess I loved you too severely. I think letting you go is more severe than dying.” – Severely by FT Island_

            If he had known, then, what would happen, he would have held her close and never let her go. As it was, however, he could not see the future, and so instead his eyes grew wide at the sight of her. He could not tear his gaze away. There she was, alive, breathing, cheeks red, blue eyes glowing, as if nothing had happened at all. It was as if someone was holding a knife to his heart.

            But this was the hospital elevator, and he had just watched the nurse whose features he could not recall pull the starched white sheet over Christine’s pale, lifeless face. It could not be her, no, it was not! But it was, and there was a tear rolling down her cheek. All he wanted to do was brush it away and tell her that he was glad to see her, that she was beautiful and precious and worth all the love in the world.

            He had to say something. Anything. “Are you okay?” he asked, hoping she would not notice how strange his voice sounded. It was deeper than normal, and softer. His numb fingers curled into fists by his sides.

            “I’m f-fine,” she replied, her words soaked with the hoarse aftermath of violent sobs. She did not recognize him. The sound of her voice pushed the knife closer.

            “You do not seem fine.” It was a blunt statement, too blunt for the tremor in his words, and one he would normally shy away from. But this was Christine, the same Christine he had lost only moments before, and nothing was going to stand in the way of him caring for her in any way possible.

            “Is anyone?” she sighed, giving the sliver of exposed, scarred flesh around his eye a sideways glance.

            “There was a fire,” he mumbled quickly, knowing it was not the truth but refusing to tell her that.

            “Must have been bad.” Her voice was starting to regain its usual strength.

            Erik nodded, forcing confidence back into his own words. “Alright, I shared. Your turn.”

            Christine’s face darkened almost imperceptibly. “Turns out that I, um, have a pretty scary heart murmur. Or something like that. All I know is it’s genetic, and it killed both my parents when I was little.” A bitter smile twisted on her lips. “Guess it decided I’m next.”

            Erik was stone. Not even stone still, in the cliché sense of the term, but hard rock through and through. He was a statue, somewhere in the corner of the elevator, watching his and Christine’s conversation occur. His eyes did not move, his heart was still, his mouth was dry.

            He had her back, and yet she still meant to leave him all the same.

            Christine raised an eyebrow. “Pretty chastely, huh? But it took my parents nice and quietly from what I hear. In their sleep. I’m hoping for the same.”

            “It cannot be fixed?” The words stung his throat.

            “If I was immortal, maybe. Surgery is pretty dangerous. Low survival rates. Plus it costs money. I’d rather just let it take me.” On the surface, she was nonchalant about the whole affair. But Erik knew her, and he saw the fear in her eyes. She had not come to terms with her death any more than he had. He felt the knife push closer, carving at his heart, yet he hardly cared. What was his pain, when Christine was going to die?

            It hurt, forcing words out of his mouth, but he had to say it. “Will you be alone?”

            “N-no. I’ll have… well, I guess Ms. Giry will be there. But not Meg.” She bit her lip, eyes darting around the corners of the elevator.

            “You… have no friends?”

            “Some. But I won’t make them see that. Death… seeing death changes you.” The elevator halted and the metal doors swiftly slid open. “Well, it was nice meeting you! This is my stop.”

            He followed her out of the elevator. Even if he had not intended to anyways, his feet would have pulled the rest of his body along. “Um.”

            Christine paused and turned to face him, hardly concealing her surprise at his presence.

            “This might seem too… forward, but… if you would like… I could be there.”

            It was a ridiculous offer that he should not have made, because he could see the suspicion on her face, but he pushed the subject further.

            “You do not want to hurt your friends. But no one should be alone when they…” He could not force the word out, so he moved on. “I have seen it before, far too often. It will not hurt me. We can… be friends, of sorts. You will not be alone, and I…” What would he get out of it? To be with her, but he could not say that. “I will have a friend, if only for a time.”

            She would never agree to it. Ever. It was too large, too frightening. A ridiculous request.

            But Christine took a pen and a small pad of paper from her purse, scribbled something, and handed it to him. “That’s my address. We’re having dinner at 6:30. Dress nice.” With that, she turned around and walked down the hall.

            It worked! It really worked!

            There was a clock on the wall, digital, that blinked the date, time, and outside temperature in large red letters. 3:15 pm. 68 degrees Fahrenheit. Wednesday, April 26th.

            April 26th. One week before the accident. Erik watched the date blink again and again. One week, one week, one week.

            He had one week to save her.

****

            Somehow he ended up at Nadir’s house, still clad in the scrubs but no longer wearing the surgery mask. The Persian answered the door in a t-shirt and boxers with sleep weighing down on his eyelids. Even after all these years, Nadir was still working overnight like they had when they still worked together. Erik shoved past him into the foyer. “I need your help.” After a moment, while Nadir was still registering what had just happened, Erik tacked on a quick “please.”

            “What’s wrong, Erik? It’s been years.”

            Erik pursed his lips. “It appears, my dear Nadir, that you are still my only friend. Therefore, in my time of need, I can only rely on you.”

            “Alright. Let’s sit down. Tea or coffee?”

            “Neither.”

            Nadir shrugged and walked, still somewhat groggy, into the kitchen. Erik entered the living room and sat down on his friend’s couch. The man emerged several minutes later, looking much more awake with coffee in his hand. Nadir sat in the recliner across from Erik, an expectant expression on his face. “Well?”

            “I time travelled.” It sounded stupid, even to Erik, but it was the only thing that made sense.

            Nadir frowned into his coffee mug. “Explain.”

            “May 3rd, 11:55 am. Christine Daae is hit by a car in front of the dance studio. I go to see her in the hospital. But when I leave, after she… When I leave, it is April 26th.”

            “So you… came to the past?”

            “Yes. I do not know how. But I need your help.”

            “Where do I fit into all of this?”

            “I need a place to stay. I think that past-me is still at the studio, so I have nowhere to go. I also need clothes. And a mask.” Erik frowned. He had left the bag of his own clothes somewhere in the hospital; probably in the bathroom, but he could not remember.

            “What do you plan to do?” The question was unexpected.

            “Save her, I suppose.” He felt drained, and he could hear it in his own voice.

            “Well,” Nadir stood, placing his coffee mug on the side table, “let’s go buy you some clothes.”

****

            He rang the doorbell of Marie Giry’s powder-blue house at exactly 6:30. And, of course, as was Erik’s luck, none other than Marie Giry herself answered the door.

            The smile she wore for Christine’s new friend evaporated. She stepped out, cane in hand, and shut the door behind her, guarding the entrance with her frail body. Then, with her critical brown eyes, she looked Erik up and down, from the top of his combed wig to the tips of his black dress shoes. “What are you doing here?” she hissed, her voice laced with her own particular brand of French venom.

            “Christine invited me to dinner.” He held up a small bouquet of pink flowers, as if that was explanation enough.

            Finally, as he knew they would all along, Giry’s eyes landed on his bare face. Everything about his black suit, his lack of exposed skin, was normal. But he was no longer wearing his mask.

            He had worn it on the way there, of course, and had made every effort to avoid being seen. But when he came up to Christine’s doorstep, instead of turning tail and running, he was overcome with a burst of bravery, and took the mask off. He held it in his right hand, the flowers gently clutched in his left.

            Before the French woman could scold him, curse him, or toss him off her front step, Christine pulled the door open. She, too, froze at the sight of him, taking in the lumpy, partly translucent deformation on his face. For a moment, she looked as though every cell in her body was willing her to vomit. Erik felt his muscles clench, and, in those several seconds, thought seriously about running away.

            Then Christine smiled, slid past Marie, and took the flowers. “These are gorgeous!” As if to drive home her point, she buried her face in the petals and inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut. They opened once more and landed immediately on Erik. “Come inside! Dinner’s almost done. Hope you like roast beef!”

            “Roast beef sounds delectable.” He followed Christine inside, eyes trained on her bouncing curls. He did not see Giry’s face, but he was certain it was red with anger. He would certainly be answering for his actions later on.

****

            Giry walked him out after dinner. “She said her doctor friend was coming, yet somehow you ended up here instead. Explain.”

            No one could refuse Marie Giry’s demands. “I was in disguise. Nothing for you to worry about. I will not harm the girl.”

            “No, you will not.” It was a challenge. Erik chose to retreat.

****

            Two days later, they ate ice cream and watched a movie. A comedy, because crying was out of the question.

            The main character made a joke about how one of the others looked like a pig. For some reason, Christine thought that was roll-on-the-floor- laughing funny, and she pressed her forehead onto Erik’s shoulder, trying to control her giggles.

            Luckily, she did not notice how Erik stiffened at her touch.

****

            She had seen him. Four days after the dinner, when Erik was changing his clothes for board game night, he finally realized this fact. That night, on her doorstep, and every moment after, she had seen _him_.

            It was impossible, yet it was true. Beneath the black clothes and the scars and the deformation was a man even Erik did not entirely know. But Christine did. She had seen him, and she had understood him.

            He cried. Hot, fat tears. Because he finally understood the gift of empathy she had bestowed on him. And he had no way to repay her.

****

            The night before the accident, Erik did not sleep. He stood, walked back and forth in front of the mirror in Nadir’s guest room, and worried. He thought a lot about how to save her. The problem was, he had only seen the accident’s aftermath, so he could not make any real plans that way.

            When the sun rose, he had decided that preventative measures were necessary.

****

            He was at her door, waiting, when she stepped out, ballet bag in hand. “Erik!”

            His name was beautiful on her lips. But he had an important job to accomplish. “Do not go to practice. Please. Stay with me instead. Just for today.”

            A frown creased her forehead. “I have to go to practice. The recital is soon.” She moved to step past him.

            “Please, Christine!” He grabbed her arm tightly, and at her squeal, immediately loosened his grip. “Please do not go.” It was barely a whisper.

            “What is wrong with you?!” She yelled, clutching her arm to her chest. His fingerprints on her skin were bright red.

            “I want you to be safe!” he yelled back. “If you go today—” his voice hitched, and he could not tell her.

            “What? I’ll die?” He tried to conceal his shock at her words, but he knew his mouth was hanging open. “Well guess what? I’m already dying, Erik!” That time, his name sounded vicious, and all he could do was watch her walk away. He wanted to run, far and fast, screaming all the way, but he could barely trust his legs to keep his body upright.

            Fifteen minutes later, he knew he had to go after her. He forced his legs to move, one foot in front of the other, until he was walking quickly down the street. By the time he reached the studio, she had long since gone inside, so he waited.

            At 11:45, she stormed out. He caught her arm once more, gently. “Christine.”

            She shook him off. “Who are you?”

            He knew, then, that she had finally met his past self. She had seen his face, and he had been stupid enough to think her silence, her surprise, was awe. He knew now that it had been loathing. Confusion. She stormed out because she knew exactly who he was, and he did not really know her at all. “I can explain.”

            “Go ahead!”

            “It is, actually, rather complicated.”

            “Fine.” With a harsh spin, she marched off into the road.

            Time moved in slow motion. It was silly, but it happened. Erik watched as the SUV swerved, watched as Christine did not pay attention, watched as the driver panicked and struggled to take control of the vehicle. He made the split-second decision to run after her. His legs were thick, heavy, too much to move quickly. They would not do what he wanted, and he fought with them, forced them to push his body forward.

            The SUV inched closer, and still Christine did not look up. She was far away, too far away, and he was not going to be able to save her. He was going to fail again; he was going to lose her again. He could not lose her again!

            “Christine!” he cried, arm stretched in desperation, and time sped up as the SUV ran straight into him with a graceful, almost musical crunch. Christine stopped walking.

            His body was numb and his vision was tinted red. He made out the vague shape of a bone protruding from his leg, but it did not seem like his leg. It felt detached somehow, as if he was staring at a random, broken limb, floating endlessly through space.

            And there was Christine, silent, yet her mouth was open and her face was wet and she was running to him. He wanted to reach for her, to catch her and embrace her, but he was not sure where his arms were, so he just watched her instead.

            Two steps away, she stopped. Her hand was pressed against her chest. She looked like she was coughing.

            Then she crumpled to the ground, and her head landed a few inches from his. He tried to call for her, but his head hurt, and he could barely even see her. There was blood, someone’s blood, a puddle between them, but whose was it? It was everywhere, seeping into the pavement, soaking Christine’s beautiful, blonde curls.

            He understood it all then. Her hair, all the blood. Her death. Doomed from the start. If he were not struggling for air, he would have sobbed.

            Suddenly, there was pain, as the knife plunged through his heart and every injury on his body became reality.

            Then, there was darkness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone enjoyed this miniature fic! Please, feel free to leave comments! Thank you all for reading! And, if you would like, here is the link to a video I made to go along with this (it was for an assignment): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lz01rwIam-A  
> Again, thanks for reading! @(^_^)@


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